


Of Love and Death and Duty

by OopsFanfiction



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And I've written it out of spite, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Give me a happy ending dammit, House Blackfyre, I do what I want, I don't even know if anyone will read this, My attempt at a happy ending, Pulling in plots of the books, Three new 'love stories' mixed in with the events of season 8, and making a few changes to episodes 2 and 3, ignoring most of the events of season 8 after episode 3, there might be smut who knows, this is probably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-03-17 12:29:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18965266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OopsFanfiction/pseuds/OopsFanfiction
Summary: As Daenerys Targaryen arrives at Winterfell, she relies on old and new allies found in the strangest of places. The Night King approaches and bonds will be built and broken.(A re-write of Season 8 because I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Will mostly revolve around the love stories, just a forewarning, and will also pull in characters/plot-lines from the books. Focusing on Pod/OFC, Willas/OFC, Aegon(Young Griff)/OFC with Jon/Dany, Sansa/Sandor, and Arya/Gendry, too.)





	1. Guests of the Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. I'm back on my bullshit.  
> If you have any questions about the family trees, locations, or characters I've mentioned, just ask!  
> Please let me know what you think. xx

Visenya had warned Queen Daenerys of the frost-like welcome she would receive from the North. Her travels had only taken her as far North as White Harbor but the northmen’s reputation was something fearsome to behold firsthand. While the fanfare had been quickly halted with the chair-bound Stark, Visenya kept herself out of the Great Hall of Winterfell.

She stayed outside, watching the Unsullied and Dothraki acclimate themselves to the harsh chill and unfamiliar terrain. Her ships had been left at White Harbor, leaving her land-bound until further notice. A few of the smallfolk of Wintertown stared at her as they passed. Her silver-blonde hair and mismatched green and purple eyes had given a few of them pause, thinking she was the Dragon Queen. 

“ _They are strange here,_ ” one of the Unsullied captains murmured to her in Valyrian. He had taken the name Loyal Spear after Daenerys had burned the Good Masters.

“ _They are,_ ” Visenya said. _“But our queen has answered their call_.” 

“ _I do not like how they stare at her or you or us_.” 

“ _I don’t either. Hopefully we will be victorious soon and on our way._ ” She reached out and touched his arm, squeezing once. “ _Be sure to wrap yourself in furs, dear friend. I would not see you freeze_.” 

Loyal Spear nodded and wished her good luck as he was called away by one of his men.

They had received a Raven before setting out toward Winterfell that Olenna’s grandsons, Willas and Garlan, had retaken Highgarden. The two had been ordered by their grandmother to stay at Dragonstone while she ‘dealt’ with the Lannisters. When word of her admirable demise and Highgarden’s sacking reached Dragonstone, the brothers knew what had to be done. They retook their ancestral seat with the five hundred men they’d brought to Dragonstone when only a skeleton crew of Lannister men had been left to defend Highgarden. Queen Daenerys had given them their blessing and found comfort in the fact that The Reach was still under her command. Willas, now Lord of Highgarden, had sent word to Visenya that he and his finest men would ride North as soon as they were able. 

( _“No other words of love in the scroll? I do miss your sweet-”_

 _“Lord Tyrion, do be quiet.”_ )

Visenya knew that her queen and a few of her court had thought there had been an attraction between Visenya and the newly-minted Lord Tyrell. She, however, quickly dismissed it. She hailed from House Velaryon of Driftmark. Once a naval power during the Targaryen dynasty, it had been reduced to barely more than rags when Robert Baratheon took power. Visenya had taken to the sea to find gold and care for her family while her brother, Monford, played the dutiful peon to Stannis Baratheon. When Monford died in the Battle of Blackwater, it left his son, Monterys who had barely six years of age, on the throne of Driftmark. The plan Monford had always pretended to have was finally put into motion. 

She would go find Daenerys Targaryen and help her take back the Iron Throne. She wouldn’t see little Monterys used and abused by Lannister or Baratheon. 

She had hardened herself to the ways of the world with her near-decade at Sea, smuggling for almost anyone who would pay the correct price and earning riches in the far east at places like Asshai-by-the-Shadow. Her crew was loyal. When she had asked them if they’d follow her to Slaver’s Bay and help Daenerys Targaryen take the Iron Throne, most agreed and followed. 

“My lady,” Ser Davos said, stepping to Visenya’s side. “I did not see you inside.” 

“The world of political alliances has always been too dangerous for me, my lord.” She smiled. She had liked Ser Davos when she had first met him on Dragonstone, acting as Hand of the King to Jon Snow. They had found a strange kinship in how smuggling had landed them among royalty. “I would prefer to sail through the Smoking Sea than step foot inside that snake’s den.” 

“I do believe you are not alone in that sentiment.” He leaned against the wood post beside her and also watched the Unsullied and Dothraki make camp. “Do they have enough furs? We are far from the deserts of Astapor and the Great Grass Sea.” 

“Queen Daenerys was certain. But I will ask if a few require more.” 

The pair traded a few pleasant anecdotes about their smuggling pasts before he excused himself when he spotted something among the courtyard. And she was left alone again. She knew her time in the North would be largely spent alone. Her crew was protecting the boats they’d left at White Harbor and Daenerys, Missandei, and Grey Worm would likely all be busy with political intrigue and battle planning. The handful of Unsullied she’d befriended during her time with Daenerys would be consumed with fortifying the castle and strategy. For a few moments, she wondered why she had been asked to come to Winterfell at all. 

Horns blew in the distance. The commotion it stirred behind the gates was comical, almost. _Surely all of Daenerys’s army had already come. Was it the Lannisters, as promised? White Walkers? The questions were asked quickly by passersby._

As the sun set over the fortress, the gates were opened again and a splash of color bled into the courtyard. Visenya felt her heart lodge itself in her throat when she spied the tattered green and gold banners of the Tyrell forces. The last horse, a midnight black palfrey, was a familiar sight. Atop it sat Willas Tyrell. His dark hair was pulled back with a black ribbon and his dark blue eyes were tired but still sparkled. Shellacked wood and polished metal bound his leg and he winced when he pulled himself from the saddle. A thick, brown fur cloak was pulled tight about his shoulders and dark gloves covered his hands as he pulled his familiar cane from behind the saddle and quickly settled his weight upon it with a grimace. 

Ten carts filled with barrels were parked outside the gates and being inspected by Winterfell guards. 

Visenya stifled a smile when she saw a few of the North men grumble about how ‘these southron men always make a fuss’ but they seemed impressed and the slightest bit thankful that The Reach had come bearing food. She pushed away from her hiding spot and walked toward Willas’ side. “Lord Tyrell, your speed from Highgarden to Winterfell is unmatched.” 

Willas turned and stumbled in the snow. She knew better than to help him, his pride was a fearsome beast. “My lady, I didn’t expect to see you this far North. I thought you would be in White Harbor with Her Grace’s ships.” 

“Lord Snow convinced her we needed all the fighters we could get. And thus, I am here.” She waved her hand at the dark stone and snow. 

The pair was quiet for a moment as they looked at each other. It had been months since they had seen each other last. Their relationship had always been fraught with an odd tension. They had first met when Olenna had needed a poison to get rid of the Brat King Joffrey and Petyr Baelish had heard of a smuggler who could be discreet. Thus, Visenya had been sent to Lys to retrieve The Strangler. She delivered it to Olenna Tyrell at Highgarden and had made Willas’ acquaintance. She had smelled of horse and had blood caked in her hair from a scuffle on the road and he had been dressed in the finest forest green brocade jack and tunic and looked every bit the highborn man she knew him to be. 

“I have missed you,” he whispered. Slowly and hidden by the shadows of the dying sunlight, Willas reached out to brush his fingers against her own. 

“I have missed you, too.” 

“After this is over, I-”

A flood of light pulled them away from each other and the lords and ladies of the assembly poured out into the courtyard. Sansa Stark was amongst them, as was Lyarra Arryn, the redhead’s cousin. Both highborn, beautiful ladies worthy of Willas’ attention. 

Visenya stepped away from his side as Sansa spotted them and quickly changed course to greet him.

**

Torrhen Bole sighed as she finally stepped out of Winterfell’s Great Hall. There had been too much tension in the room for her to ever settle and being able to breathe in fresh air had calmed her nerves. Night had risen over Winterfell and she stared up at the moon, trying to press it into her mind in case it would be the last time she saw and enjoyed the simple sight. There was no guarantee the Night King wouldn’t win the upcoming war. She wanted to revel in the easy pleasures while she could.

She liked Queen Daenerys. While it should be expected that whomever wanted to call themselves the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms would help defend the realm against the Long Night, it was still appreciated (at least in Torrhen’s eyes) that the Dragon Queen did come North. She had never been farther South than Winterfell. Seeing the Unsullied, Dothraki, and Dragons were dreams come true. 

But her brother had always said she was too curious and kind. _‘You must be hard, Torrhen. The world is not soft.’_

As most of the lords and ladies busied themselves with seeing to the newly-arrived Tyrell forces, Torrhen slid away to the godswood and sunk into the silence. It was short lived, however, when Lord Snow stepped in behind her. 

“Lady Torrhen, it was a pleasure to see you here. We didn’t expect anyone from the Wolfswood to answer the call.” 

Torrhen smiled and tipped her head. “Lord Glover may command the houses of the Wolfswood but we are stubborn. He is a coward and an oathbreaker. My brother was there when you were crowned king. We said we’d fight for you—we answered your call.” She had arrived only the prior morning with twenty five men, all that her house could spare. Each one of them had a battle axe strapped to their backs with worn brown leather straps. She adjusted her inky black fur cloak as a gust of wind ripped through the forest. “My brother sends his regards. He had to stay behind and hold Bole Hall. Lord Glover threatened to take all the lands and titles of anyone who left to fight.” She shrugged. “Treason before dishonor seemed like a better crime.” 

Jon chuckled. “I thank you for it, my lady.” He turned toward the castle as a boisterous shout reverberated through the night air. “Food is being served in the Great Hall, you’ll be joining us, won’t you?” 

“In a moment. I need the cold to settle my bones a little longer.” 

Jon excused himself and let her be as she turned back toward the Heart Tree. Her gloved hand reached out and touched the carved face, fingers sweeping over the drooped eyelids and pronounced nose. It was nothing like any of the faces she had back at Bole Hall. House Bole held a part of the Wolfswood containing a large number of weirwoods, the greatest number south of The Wall. Dozens had faces and all of them were jovial, happy. Her mother used to tell her that the Children of the Forest had felt at peace here and the trees showed it. At least this wasn’t the snarling, gaping maw of the Heart Tree at the Dreadfort, the former hall of the Boltons. 

Torrhen bit the finger of her glove to more easily remove it and then again pressed her hand to cold, smooth bark of the tree. It gave her a sense of peace, just to be this close. 

And she knew that might the last remnant of harmony she may ever experience. 

She lingered for a few moments longer, just until the tips of her fingers started to ache with a chill, and then set off toward the Great Hall. The scent of warm meat and roasted vegetables did set her mouth to water as she slunk into the background of the congregated masses. She found a spot toward the back and helped herself to a bit of everything and smiled at the serving girl who filled her cup. 

Torrhen’s dark eyes flitted across the room, taking in the various different houses that had amassed for the upcoming battle but stopped as she noticed Missandei. The regal woman was looking over the tables, possibly for a place to sit. The people of the North were known to be distrustful of outsiders, Torrhen knew this. But she had not seen any sort of ill-will from anyone in Daenerys’ retinue and Missandei had a kind heart, she was sure of it.

The bench beside Torrhen was empty so she smiled and waved Missandei over. The other woman slowly approached. “You are Lady Missandei, yes? Advisor to Her Grace?” Torrhen scooted over to allow Missandei extra room. 

“Yes, my lady,” she said, taking the seat with a rigid back. 

“Oh, I’m just Torrhen. How are you finding Winterfell?” Torrhen asked, sipping at her wine. She had never been a fan of titles. 

“It is very different than Dragonstone or Essos. But it has its charms, I suppose.” 

Torrhen laughed but dropped her voice. “It is a fortress, hardly anything beautiful about it. You can be truthful with me.” 

Missandei just smiled but a bit of tension left her shoulders. 

“I have heard whispers of the great adventures you and Queen Daenerys have gone on—could you…” Torrhen bit her lip. “I’ve never been further South than this. A bit pathetic.” 

“It isn’t.” Missandei said it with such a soft intensity that Torrhen instantly took it to heart. 

“Is the world as beautiful as I’ve been told? What does the sea smell like?” 

Missandei smiled again, relaxed. “Like salt and water. Sometimes it smells sweet and others it smells like a horse’s decaying corpse.” 

“Truly?” Torrhen asked, eyes wide. She had devoured every book in her small Hall’s library about the world outside the north, but nothing had mentioned little details like that, or had such a frank way or stating it. 

“Truly.” 

Torrhen shook her head and fought a smile. Then, an intrusive thought crossed her mind. Heat took over her cheeks as she regretted even asking Missandei to sit near her. Her brother would be so embarrassed; she’d let her stupidly curious mouth run away from her mind. “I am so sorry. You have much more important matters to attend to than telling some small minded girl about the world.” 

“I do not mind it. It is a welcome reprieve from battle strategy.” 

“Are you certain?” Torrhen asked, still ashamed. 

“I am.” Missandei smiled again and Torrhen thought there should be songs written about how lovely she was.

Torrhen then noticed how the other woman rubbed a hand up and down over her arm, as if trying to keep herself warm. “How are you faring in this weather? Do you need anything? More furs?” 

The pair talked for the remainder of the meal, happy to trade small stories about their vastly different backgrounds or questions about unfamiliar things and places. When the meal drew to a close, Torrhen smiled at Missandei, a bit bashful but encouraged by the amount of wine she had imbibed. “I do hope I’ll be able to speak to you again, Lady Missandei. If you would find it agreeable.” 

“I would,” the older woman said, softly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

**

Lyarra Arryn had slipped out of Winterfell’s Great Hall after one of the wildlings had started telling a story about fucking a bear. The story was probably entertaining but her innards were still a mess of nerves. She’s barely sipped at her wine and ate a single carrot before telling her handmaiden she was retiring for the night. The younger girl tried to leave as well but Lyarra told her to enjoy the rest of the night and filled her goblet with more wine.

The halls were chilled and Lyarra sighed as she spied her chamber door. Sansa had been kind enough to set her up in one of the larger chambers and Lyarra had reveled in the peace and quiet that came with the separation. 

“My lady?” 

Lyarra turned at the sound of the voice and stared down the dimly lit hallway. Only two of the eight torches were lit, casting dark shadows that moved with the wind. 

“My lady?” Podrick stepped into the light. 

Lyarra released a long breath quietly. The small dagger she’d hidden away in her sleeve remained unmoved. “Podrick, how can I help you?” Truthfully, Podrick was a welcome sight. While they’d only been briefly introduced when Lady Brienne and he returned from Riverrun, Lyarra knew him to be kind and honest. His dark hair and full cheeks were an added perk to seeing him. 

“Your, um, handmaiden was worried for you.” He scratched as his head as he took a few steps closer. “Is everything-”

“You are too kind and she too worrisome. I’m simply tired.” She smiled and felt her lips lift even higher as pink dusted the squire’s cheeks. “Goodnight, Podrick.” 

“Goodnight, my lady,” he said in return, words hushed. He tipped his head as she turned and let herself into her chambers.

She quietly locked the door and pulled at the fastening of her long braid. Her blonde hair fell about her shoulders in messy waves as she bit at her lip. Before she lost her nerve, Lyarra undid the lock and opened her door again. “Podrick?” She called out, looking for him in the dark hall. 

“Yes, my lady?” He said, running back into the light, almost as if he had lingered in the hallway after she had shut her door. “Is there something you need?” 

“No. I simply wanted to thank you for your concern. Your kindheartedness is strange in times such as these, but I welcome it.” 

His cheeks pinked again. “My-my lady, I… I hope you have a restful night.” 

Lyarra tipped her head, hiding her smile. “You as well, Podrick.” 

Podrick looked at her for a few moments longer, a strange, soft smile on his face before shaking himself, like a dog free of water, and then bowed again. “Goodnight, again, my lady.” 

“Goodnight.”


	2. The Last Light of Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is bad at updating? I am. Who is bad at getting to the point? I am.   
> This could technically be seen as a filler chapter but, in my opinion, you get a feel of relationships in this reiteration of Season 8. As stated before, I am re-working character dynamics. I hope that comes through here.   
> I am ALSO making all those red herrings actually pay off.   
> Thank you for all the lovely kudos and compliments. I apologize for taking so long.

Sansa had hardly slept. The life as Lady Stark had hardly been one to sing songs about, she knew this. Still in her nightgown and with just a heavy cloak to conceal her modesty, she crept through the darkened halls and let herself into her cousin’s room. (Truthfully, she had done this before with Arya and had nearly been pinned to the wall with a dagger. She didn’t do it again even when Arya had apologized.) The moon was still in the sky and no trace of sunlight had started to bleed over the horizon.

Sansa found her older cousin curled into a ball with a single fur wrapped around her form. The rest were thrown about the featherbed as if Lyarra had been kicking all night. Sansa slid beside her in bed and pulled a fur up to her chest and curled into the heat Lyarra exuded. 

“You’re up early,” Lyarra murmured, voice hoarse. She didn’t turn over. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Sansa wasn’t surprised her quiet footsteps still woke Lyarra. She had always been aware of people sneaking up behind her. 

“I see that. What troubles you?” She finally turned, eyes blurred but a small smile on her face. “I’m sure the list will be lengthy and I will not fault you for it.” 

Sansa sighed and scooted a bit closer. There was an enigmatic magnetism about Lyarra, always had been. She was only two years older than Sansa but she seemed much older at times. Her years in Dorne had spotted dark freckles across her nose and cheeks and left a few scars across the sides of her fingers. Sansa didn’t ask why she had them. “Can I just stay here with you for a moment?” 

“Of course you can,” Lyarra said, pulling the fur higher around Sansa’s shoulders. “Stay as long as you need.” 

Sansa’s delicate fingers tangled with Lyarra’s and squeezed as they met beneath her pillow. “Thank you.” 

The pair then slid back into slumber for a few more hours, at ease with each other’s presence. 

When Sansa woke, Lyarra was flittering about the room, readying herself for the day as the first rays of sunlight started to stream through the heavy curtains over the window. A pot of steaming tea was sitting at her table and wafted the scent of spices across the room. 

As she braided her hair away from her face, Lyarra spotted Sansa’s rousing form and smiled. “I made some tea for you. Your kitchens are very hard to find,” her voice was barely above a whisper as she settled near Sansa on the bed and brushed a stray, fiery lock away from her Tully-blue eyes. “And you still kick in your sleep.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Think nothing of it.” She stood again and poured a cup of the dark liquid before handing it to her. Sansa took it as she sat up. “It’s a blend from Dorne. It will give you energy even when you’ve had little sleep.” 

“What part of Dorne?” Sansa asked as she sipped at the warm, slightly spiced tea. After she swallowed the tang of oranges settled at the back of her tongue.

“Just outside of the Water Gardens, a small orchard that Prince Doran used to love. He brought me this tea himself after his daughter, Princess Arianne, kept me up all night with stories of the Rhoynar.” Lyarra smiled at her cousin. “It takes a few moments but you will be a respectable lady soon. No worries of yawning or dozing off while tending to the concerns of your lords and ladies. I promise.” 

Sansa finished the tea as Lyarra dressed herself in a grey-blue gown with fluted sleeves and lined with black fur. She managed to lace up most of the dress on her own before asking Sansa to finish, pulling the corset tight against her chest. 

“You never told me why you left Dorne,” Sansa said, finishing the tea. “Surely, your father was hoping for a betrothal by having you fostered with Prince Doran.” 

“I’m sure he was,” Lyarra chuckled. She pulled Sansa up from the bed and set her down on a small stool in front of the vanity and started on her hair. “There was Mors Manwoody, heir to Kingsgrave. He was dashing but much too into his cups. Then, Gulian Qorgyle, heir to Sandstone. He had the most wondrous head of inky black hair that I’ve ever seen but I do believe he was in love with a fair maiden from Ghost Hill. And there was a man from Wyl…I’ve quite forgotten his name but I do remember his green eyes; I stared into them all night as we danced.” Lyarra had braided and twisted half of Sansa’s hair into a bun and held a mirror to the back of it so she could see. Sansa approved. “They were all handsome and suitable enough. But Princess Arianne said something to me, something that had pushed me forward.” 

“What was it?” 

“A bird that flies as high as I do should never beggar herself for scraps.” Lyarra twisted a strand of Sansa’s bright hair around her finger. “When I was sixteen, Prince Doran gave me his blessing to leave Dorne with an open invitation to return if I ever wanted.”

“That is when you came North.” 

“I did. Father had told me of a sickness in King’s Landing and how Robin had been sequestered away to the Eyrie. Winterfell sounded like home.” It was left unspoken, the mistreatment she faced after leaving Winterfell. 

Sansa reached up and held her cousin’s hand as they looked into the mirror. “It can be your home, Lyarra. I am so happy to have you here.” She let out a stuttering breath and pulled her hand free to twisted her fingers together in her lap. “I need your strength, cousin.” 

“And you shall have it.” 

“This queen, Daenerys, what do you think of her?” 

Lyarra hummed and adjusted a pin in Sansa’s hair. “I have yet to know her longer than that introduction we had before Bran herded us back into the Great Hall yesterday. But, I know you do not trust her. And I cannot fault you for that. But she is kind to her allies and ruthless to her enemies. I’ve heard stories of her fight to free the people of Slaver’s Bay. Surely, she will be fair. While the North is once again part of The Seven Kingdoms, it may be for the best.” 

Sansa turned to look at her as if struck. 

“Sansa, you love your home and people fiercely. You want to see them safe. Jon did what he had to do to keep them safe. You cannot fault him for it, can you? She came North when he asked. She came to help.” 

“Are you suggesting I should blindly trust her? She is a stranger-”

“As are you, to her. I’m not asking you to love her, be her handmaiden. But I am asking you to give her a chance.” Sansa moved to stand but Lyarra caught her younger cousin’s hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “The world has made you think you must be steel; cold and hard. But at your core, your heart, you are kind and lovely. You two have more than a single common enemy. It is good to have friends in times such as these.” The older of the pair sighed as Sansa’s face failed to hide her displeasure. “Just think on it, Sansa. And always know I am beside you.”

**

Torrhen had busied herself in the early morning hours with making sure her and her men’s axes were coated in Dragonglass. The strange, black rock was bonded to the edges of the blades and Torrhen took it upon herself to deliver the weapons back to each of her men. Hopefully, they were all still sleeping. The ride to Winterfell from Bole Hall had been hurried and rushed, leaving little room for sleep and all of her men had been beyond tired after the meal last night. She had told all of them to sleep as much as they could. Lady Sansa had been kind enough to have her men set up at an inn in Wintertown so they needn’t sleep in tents on the ground and Torrhen was given a small but comfortable room in Winterfell’s keep.

The sky was tinged purple by the time the smiths were finished and Torrhen hauled herself up onto her horse with the heavy weaponry tucked carefully into saddle bags or strapped to her back. Outside Winterfell’s gates, she saw the neat rows of tents of the Unsullied and the large, circular domes of the Dothraki shelters. Some had small tendrils of smoke coming from the top or she could see the edges of furs poking out from between the flaps of a handful of tents. One fluttered and an Unsullied solider slid out of the tent, already dressed in his armor. He was the first to rise, it seemed.

Torrhen slowed her horse to a stop as she crossed his path. “Um, uh, good morning,” she said with a blush as the wind tangled her unbound brown hair. She wasn’t even sure if this was considered polite.

“Good morning,” the man replied in a heavy accent. 

“Have you broken your fast yet?” She asked, wondering if the Unsullied had been given rations. She had brought a bit of her own to not be a burden to Winterfell, but it was hard to think of feeding an army.

He shook his head. 

Torrhen pulled a small bundle from one of the saddle bags and winced as she saw it had been smashed. “It isn’t much, but the cream and jam are my favorites and the bread is fresh and warm.” She held it out to him and he slowly took it, curling his fingers around the warm cloth. “I hope you like it. Lady Stark will have more food sent out later, I’m sure.”

“Thank you,” the soldier said. 

“You’re very welcome.” Torrhen tightened her hold on her reins as she started to walk away but paused and looked back at the man. “Thank you for coming this far North. I wish you good fortune.” 

The man tipped his head and Torrhen continued on her way out to Wintertown. 

Her men were, thankfully, all still sleeping when she arrived and the innkeeper’s wife let Torrhen into each of the rooms to silently give back the axes they’d been relieved of when they arrived and then let herself out after warming her belly with a bit of early-morning ale. 

As she rode back through the camp and offered small smiles to the newly risen Unsullied, she saw Missandei standing beside the Unsullied she had met earlier, carefully, tenderly wiping some of the jam away from his lips. The Unsullied spotted her and whispered something to Missandei who turned and smiled at Torrhen. “Lady Torrhen, good morning.” 

“Lady Missandei, I am so happy to see you again.” Torrhen slowed her horse to a stop in front of them. 

“This is Grey Worm, commander of the Unsullied,” Missandei said, her hand on Grey Worm’s arm. “I understand you met earlier.” 

“We did. Was the jam to your liking?” 

“It was good,” Grey Worm said with a tip of his head. “Thank you.” 

Torrhen couldn’t stop the large smile. “I am pleased. I can bring more, if you are hungry?” She only had a few jars in her room and she doubted it would feed more than a few dozen but she’d happily hand it over if asked. 

A horn blew in the distance in the courtyard, pulling all of their attention. 

“We are needed inside.”

**

Visenya listened to Jamie Lannister’s excuses and justifications behind Willas. He was seated near Lady Brienne of Tarth and Visenya had pressed herself against the wall behind him, not wanting to take a seat at one of the long tables. It hardly seemed appropriate. The meeting-turned-trial was tiresome save for Lady Brienne’s testimony and Bran Stark’s strange interjection of ‘the things we do for love’ which threw the famed Golden Lion off-kilter. A sight to see indeed. She had never harbored any softness for the Lannisters. Their family had taken part in her family’s, Daenerys’ family’s downfall. Seeing Jaime squirm was a small joy but Visenya did have to bite back a snarl when Tyrion, of course, came to his aid. She had never cared for the younger Lannister, even when Daenerys had found merit with his cleverness. There was always just something at the back of her mind saying he could never be trusted.

However, it was soon over and Willas turned to her. “My lady, if I may have a word?” 

Visenya opened her mouth to accept when a captain from the Reach grabbed his attention. Willas’ dark blue eyes were apologetic as he let himself be led away in the mass of the quickly-emptying crowd. 

Visenya watched Jon skirt away from Daenerys and the Queen’s crestfallen face. Her heart clenched. Daenerys had a gentle heart and wanted to be loved—and Visenya wanted her queen to find the love she was worthy of. It hurt her to see Daenerys hurting.

“You’re Visenya Velaryon.” 

She turned at the sound of the voice to see Arya Stark at her side. “Yes, my lady.” She straightened her posture a bit and dipped her head. “How may I help you?” 

“They call you the Sea Dragon.” 

Visenya’s mouth twisted as she fought a smile. “A stupid moniker.” 

“You tore through a Tyroshi blockade on Lys with just three ships.” Arya stepped closer. “I’ve heard stories about you; Braavos to King’s Landing, they all know of you.” 

“But they don’t know my face. So, question is, how do you?” 

“Your eyes,” Arya said, staring up at her unblinkingly. “ _The Dragon has mismatched gemstones for eyes,_ some minstrel sang a song about you on a ship over the Narrow Sea. He also called you a man.” 

Visenya laughed. “They always think it’s a man when it comes to great acts. Gods forbid a woman do anything worthy of a song.” She sighed before raking her eyes down Arya’s form. She had noticed her here and there after she’d arrived in Winterfell and had presumed correctly that Arya absconded from the traditional roles their mothers would have preferred for them. But there was a rigidity to the younger girl’s posture, a quiet danger lurking beneath her dark eyes that gave Visenya pause. “You’ve studied in Braavos, no?” 

“Something like that.” 

Visenya turned so she could let her hip press against the wall and study the young woman. “You are your family’s secret protector, aren’t you? The smallest predators have the sharpest teeth.” 

“It keeps them alive.” 

Visenya let herself smile. “You are a mystery, Lady Arya. The North is lucky to have you.”

“And the Dragon Queen, she is lucky to have you.” While there was still an edge to Arya’s tone, the sentiment seemed genuine.

“I am lucky to have found her, if I’m being honest. I’d probably be dead somewhere in Asshai if I hadn’t come into her service.” Why she was speaking so openly, Visenya couldn’t be sure. Perhaps the lack of sleep. “But I suppose there are worse places to die than The Shadow. Some people don’t stay dead there.” 

“You’ve been to Asshai?” The unbridled curiosity washed over Arya’s features for a moment before being schooled back into indifference.

“Several times. I have unfinished business there with an old friend. When I see Queen Daenerys on the Iron Throne, I shall finish it.” 

“I would hear your adventures, if you’d permit me,” Arya said with the slightest bit of trepidation in her tone.

Visenya was reminded that Arya was barely a woman of ten and eight in that moment. And she was rue to admit that she did see a small bit of herself in the Stark girl. “If you tell me yours.”

**

Lyarra lit a candle near her namesake’s tomb and said a quiet, short prayer. Lyarra Stark had been Eddard Stark’s mother, a woman of quiet beauty and fierce love for her children. Jon Arryn had been fond of Lyarra before her untimely death and thought naming his firstborn after her would be fitting, after all, Eddard had named his son, Jon, after him.

Jon had been happy to see Lyarra again. The months she had spent at Winterfell after she left Dorne had been treasured memories of his younger years. Despite Lady Stark’s insistence that she treat him as less-than, Lyarra had been kind to him and never spoke an ill word to him or about him. The fact that she came when Sansa called for aid only endeared her more to him. She had been a dear friend when he’d had so few. 

Well, she hoped so anyway. He had kissed her forehead at the end of the Battle of the Bastards, bloody and muddy, just like he had with Sansa. _“Dear cousin, you are a welcome sight.”_

She had spent the morning speaking with Yohn Royce and Lady Brienne, discussing the plan of the woman warrior leading the Valemen into battle. Lady Brienne had been gracious even if Yohn had seemed to be a little more apprehensive. Lyarra was having none of his squabbles and had Podrick to tell Jon of the plan before Yohn could interject again. Podrick, always eager to please, had quickly dashed away with the order even when Yohn yelled at his back. She’d had quite a laugh at that. 

Lyarra finished her prayer and blew out the long matchstick. 

“Lyarra,” came a voice, breaking the quiet of the crypt. 

She turned toward the sound and spotted Jon. She smiled and threw her arms around him in a hug as he approached. They’d had such little time together since they’d reclaimed Winterfell and then he was called away to Dragonstone by Queen Daenerys. “It is good to see you.”

“Here we are, at the end of the world.” 

“I always thought the world would end in fire,” she mused. “Am I keeping you from something? I know the crypts are sacred to your family.” 

“It can wait. It isn’t like they’re going anywhere.” 

Lyarra let him lead her back out into the dying sunlight of the courtyard as the din of moving troops and heated smith shops grew louder. They talked amiably about the presence of the Valemen and how they were fairing. She knew that Jon did speak with Yohn Royce about these matters but always placed Lyarra’s opinion in higher regard. He mentioned the plan to have Brienne lead the left flank with the Valemen and it left her smiling.

Her sky blue eyes noticed a few of the Northmen gesturing over to him, attempting to catch his attention. “I do believe your men are in need of your presence.” She tilted her head in their direction to get him to follow her line of sight.

He turned and sighed. “Those would be the captains. Please excuse me, my lady.” 

“Of course, my lord,” she said with a smirk, knowing it both irked and pleased him to hear a title. She watched him go, slipping into his familiar role of commander with a straight back. A few moments slipped by as she let her mind still as she let the noises of the courtyard roar in her ears. She’d had little time alone since her arrival in the North. This morning’s talk with Sansa had somehow led her into keeping Sansa’s counsel, again, when Sansa came back to her chambers after the young Lady of Winterfell had spoken with the Dragon Queen. Sansa seemed to have quieted some of her fears about Daenerys but remained tentative. It was all Lyarra could ask for. She wanted peace. If they all survived this, peace had to be made.

“My lady?” 

She turned at the sound of the familiar voice and smiled as she recognized Gendry Waters. His skin was smudged with soot from the smith flames and he dipped his head as she regarded him. “Gendry, how may I help you?” 

“Your arrows are ready, if you would like to see them.” 

She happily followed him into the forge and inspected the large quantity of arrows laid out across a table. Shining black heads had been fastened to the shafts with a plume of black feathers at the tail. “How many?” She plucked one from the table and felt its weight and rigidity before setting it back down.

“One hundred, my lady.” Gendry then handed her two dragon glass daggers. “And Lady Stark requested you have these as well.” 

Lyarra flipped the short blades over in her hands before nodding. “Of course she did.” She slid them into the confines of her cloak. “And how is Arya’s weapon coming?” 

Gendry froze. “M-my lady?” A tinge of red hit his cheeks despite the chill in the air.

“Oh please, Gendry. She showed me the designs as soon as she came up with it. I know she must be getting quite impatient.” She bit back a smirk as his blush continued to grow. While Arya was now a different person, leagues beyond the vivacious young woman she’d seen last before the War of the Five Kings, Lyarra still knew when her young cousin had developed romantic inclinations for someone. She found it adorable, only wanting Arya to be happy. His lack of name did not bother her, he seemed a decent man. 

“It is almost finished, my lady.” 

Lyarra hummed. “I’m sure Arya will be pleased.” 

Gendry’s mouth opened and then closed several times without any words actually passing his lips. 

A loud clang captured their attention. Gendry excused himself to resume his work and Lyarra ventured back out into the courtyard to follow the sound of the commotion. Groups of young men were learning footwork alongside seasoned knights from the Vale and more experience Northmen just outside the gates. Lyarra smiled to herself as she watched them. Her eyes drifted over the groups but stopped as she spied a pair toward the end. 

Podrick Payne was squaring off against a Northern boy and decidedly winning the spar. 

His eye caught something in the distance and the Northerner nearly bested him but Podrick regained his footing and easily, and somewhat brutally ended the match. He was flustered, that much was certain, and Lyarra looked to see Lady Brienne watching him with Ser Jaime at her side. 

Podrick walked the Northerner through a few more steps and then started the spar again. Lyarra felt a strange twist in her stomach as she watched him move with his sword. His full cheeks were flushed again and his dark hair stuck to his forehead. But he looked so…gallant, strong, handsome. 

“My lady,” a captain of the Valemen called out, catching her attention. 

And thus, Podrick’s attention. 

Again, his footing faltered and he dodged the sword aimed at his shoulder. 

Lyarra smiled at him despite the severity of the situation and turned to face her captain. “Yes, Ser Gerold?” 

Ser Gerold was only a handful of years older than her but already greying at the temples. Sun had weathered his kindly face but he was still a fearsome knight. He had been one of the first to answer the call when Lyarra had asked for the Valemen to take up arms against the Boltons. He had been, at one time, a guard at her locked door at the Eyrie, secretly keeping her company and spiriting away her sealed letters. A stalwart knight and true protector. “The men have been asking: you will be on the battlements, won’t you?”

“Yes, Ser. I will be with the archers. I will not have my men fight without me there with them.” Lyarra reached out and set her gloved hand over Gerold’s as it rested on the hilt of his sword in its scabbard. “I will fight beside you. Tell any others who ask.” 

The knight looked like he wanted to say something else but bit his tongue and dipped his head. “Of course, my lady. I know your aim is true.” 

“I thank you, Ser.” 

The knight took his leave as Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime stepped to her side. “My lady, I did not expect to see you out here.” 

“I try to keep close to my men. Where they go, I go.” She paused and watched Brienne’s calculating eyes look out over the group of Valemen. “I understand Lord Royce gave you a bit of trouble when he learned you are leading the Valemen into the fight. I apologize on his behalf. His pride outweighs his commanding ability, I know they are in good hands.” 

Ser Jaime looked like he wanted to say something. 

Lyarra didn’t give him the opportunity. “May the Warrior give strength to your sword arm, Lady Brienne.”

“And may he give you true aim, my lady.” The tall woman dipped her head.

Lyarra opened her mouth to respond when Jon stepped to her side. “Lyarra, I need you. It’s time.”

**

Torrhen sat near the back of the congregated mass. Battle plans were being drawn. Tension had drawn the air taut in the room. The Dead were nearly at Winterfell. The time had come for the living to fight or join their ranks. She simply nodded at Lord Snow’s suggestion that the small group of House Bole’s men join the Mormont forces behind the gates.  
She was scared. She tried not to show it, seeing as how Lady Stark and Arya, Lady Lyarra, Lady Brienne, and Queen Daenerys seemed to have no fear at all. It would not bode well for her small house to be fronted by a coward. She needed to be strong, be brave. She would see her family, her men, the North through this long night if it was the last act she would ever accomplish. Or she would die fighting.

Torrhen left as soon as she was able, ignoring the not-inconspicuous argument that had erupted just outside the door between the Valeman and Lady Lyarra and then the more-hushed tones of the Sea Dragon and the Lord of the Reach. 

Her men were now huddled together in a vacated room, some sleeping slumped against chairs or leaned against walls. When they spotted her, most just turned their heads in her direction. It had always been like this, the smallest hint of respect but respect just the same. They treated her brother and father the same way. Names meant very little in their corner of the Wolf’s Wood. They knew they were sworn to the Boles but followed them like a brother instead of a lord. And Torrhen had always preferred it that way. “We will be with the Mormonts behind the gates. The last line of defense against the dead before they reach the crypts.” She bit back the wobble she felt working her lower lip. “Sleep now. Or drink. We have precious few hours left. Spend them how you wish. I will see you when the time comes.”

**

Visenya could feel her heart beating an angry staccato behind her ribs as she looked over the map of Winterfell. Pieces were neatly placed all over, denoting the placements of the knights and men and women who were going to fight.

Battle had always been a strange comfort for her. Strategy and bloodshed she could understand and find a bit of peace in. But, this was different. The fate of the world rested on the outcome of this single battle. She listened as Jon and Daenerys announced the placements of each flank and force and tried to ignore how Willas’ eyes never left her face after Grey Worm mentioned how she would be standing beside them, outside the walls of Winterfell. She felt better standing beside her battle-forged friends than up on the battlements. Her skill with a sword was part of her reputation, after all. 

She filtered out of the war room with everyone else but stopped as she felt a familiar, large hand gently grasp her wrist. 

“My lady,” Willas started, “truly, do you mean to be outside the gates? I-”

“I will stand with the Unsullied as I have before. If there was water here, I would be there. I go where I am most needed.” 

“You don’t even have a shield, Visenya,” Willas said, near exasperation. 

“It frees my other hand for a second blade. Do you doubt my ability?” She bit out the question and finally pulled away from him. 

“Of course I do not doubt you. You would best Garlan in a fight if given the chance, I know it. He knows it,” he said, mentioning his younger brother, a valiant and revered knight. “But I do not wish to see you harmed.” His hands curled around her arms, letting his cane clatter to the floor beside him. It echoed down the hall. “Please, my lady-”

“I cannot be swayed, my lord. But I…” she trailed off, trying to find the words. This is where she struggled. Words. Emotions. Being anywhere near eloquent. “I thank you for your concern. You are a true friend.” 

His grip dropped as his eyes tightly shut. “A **friend**. Truly, do you only see me as a friend, just a-another ear to bend when you feel the need to titter on?”   
“Have you ever known me to titter, my lord?” Visenya asked. Her heart yearned to speak the truth leadening her tongue but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t. She never would. “My friends are few. I count myself lucky to know you are one.” 

“If that is all I am to you, I will treasure it,” Willas whispered. “Just as I treasure you.” He pulled in a shaking breath before letting one of his hands slide down to grasp hers. Gently, he raised it and pressed a kiss to her scarred knuckles. “May the Warrior give strength to your sword arm.”

“And may the Warrior defend you,” she whispered in return.

**

Lyarra was known to have a temper. And she knew she was known for her temper. It didn’t present itself as often as Robin’s did, her irksome little brother. But she knew people of the Vale had whispered about it.

And she used it to her advantage. 

Like now, when Yohn Royce tried to coddle her into going into the crypts instead of standing on the battlements. The rest of the present Valemen had quickly looked away from the older man, silently distancing themselves from his request. As soon as the war council had been adjourned, Lyarra had let loose the fury she had felt rising since Yohn Royce had loudly demanded she stay in the crypts. 

The public slight had ripped open an old wound she had let fester for too long. 

_“Push her! Make sissy fly!” Robin yelled. It wasn’t the first time he’d demanded his sister be pushed through the Moon Door. And she knew it wouldn’t be the last._

_“You are no daughter of mine,” Lysa seethed._

_“I am! I am every bit your daughter just as Robin is your sniveling son.”_

_“Dorne has tainted you! Your father send you away as a peace offering like a flagon of wine and a monster came back in my daughter’s skin!” Lysa’s gaunt face was an angry red as her mouth twisted over each syllable. The assembled court of the Vale had gone hush behind them._

_“A monster I may be, but Dorne had nothing but love to offer me. You are what made me a monster. All I ever wanted was you! And because I was born with tits, I was less than dirt in your eyes—a stain.”_

_“You are a stain. I should see you cast out like a whore or a baseborn wench.”_

Yohn's face was growning dark with each passing syllable. “I only meant to protect-”

“I am a lady of the Vale, Ser. I will fight alongside my men with or without your blessing. I do not need it. The men came North because I called them, not you. They fought because I asked them to, not you. They are here for me, not you. I will not let them fight alone. They are my men! My knights! You overstep your position. Do not ever order me to do something as selfish as hide when I am perfectly capable of fighting.” 

“My lady, I know you have been trained but you will-”

“If I die, it will be fighting, not cowering in a dark hole, Ser. This will be my last word on it. Am I understood?” 

Yohn struggled for words when Ser Gerold stepped forward. He put a gloved hand on Yohn’s arm and pulled him back, ever so slightly. “Of course, my lady. We welcome your presence.” 

There was a rumble of agreement from the other captains and Yohn was pulled away, near-purple in the face now, and Gerold winked at her over his shoulder when he led the older man away. 

Lyarra felt herself deflate as she was left alone in the hall. Well, apart from the Velaryon woman who stepped out of the shadows like a wraith. Lord Tyrell followed suit soon after, walking in the other direction. Neither of them looked at her and she didn’t let her gaze linger either. 

She took a few calming breaths before feeling her throat tighten with something strange. She slid back into the war room and stared at the collected tokens on the table. An ache settled in her chest as her finger brushed over the token painted with the Arryn crest. 

What she had said was true. Her men were brave and true, the lot of them. She had told them they could march south to the Vale before the preparations for the Night King even started—but they had stayed. And she knew it was because she had stayed, vowing to fight beside her cousins. 

“My lady,” Podrick’s soft voice made her jump. A tumble of apologies spilled from his lips as she turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, my lady! I didn’t mean to startle-”

“Podrick, no, it is fine. I was too consumed with my thoughts. Your presence is most welcome.” She gave him a withered smile. 

His dark eyes glanced at the table. “Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime are leading the left flank. They’re strong commanders—your men are in the best hands.” 

The words did very little to calm her but Lyarra appreciated the sentiment. “You will be beside them, won’t you? Out in front.” 

“Yes, my lady.” He took a few steps toward her. “And you will be on the battlements with the archers. I been told your aim is true. I feel safer-”

“Please don’t,” Lyarra said, stopping his compliment. “I know you mean to give me some sort of peace by saying I could keep anyone safe. None of us are safe. We are fighting Death itself and I am letting my men, my knights die for a half hope of survival.” The words were tumbling from her mouth in a tirade, syllables sliding into each other without pause as a few tears bubbled to the surface and tracked down her cheeks. “But they are good men and wouldn’t be able to live with themselves if they thought they could have helped save people, the Realm. But I led them here. I did.” And she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she sequestered herself away and didn’t fight beside them. The annoying sting of tears persisted. Lyarra barely noticed when Podrick offered a tattered but clean kerchief—he nudged it into her hand and his smile was small when she took it to dab at her eyes. “You musn’t tell anyone of this—I shed fewer tears for my father.” 

“Your secret is safe, my lady. I promise you.” 

Lyarra balled the kerchief into her fist until her knuckles went white. “You are a fine man, Podrick.” She sniffled and blinked away a fresh wave of tears. “It does give me a small comfort to have you here, now, and to know my men will fight beside you.” She paused and it felt like something sharp had lodged itself in her throat as she looked at him. His dark eyes were searching hers with such a gentleness she had never known before. His hair was mussed from the wind and cheeks pinked. He was handsome—how many times had she thought that since meeting him? And how could a face like that have such a kind heart beneath it? “I…wish you good fortune, Podrick. I would see you safe through this battle.” 

His pink cheeks burned scarlet. “As I would see you, my lady.” 

Lyarra held the small slip of fabric up. “This shall be my favor.” Her smile was small but genuine as she plucked a pin from her hair. A large pearl was bonded to the end of it and shone like a beacon in the dim light. Lyarra stepped forward and fastened it to the edge of the tunic near the neck, mostly hidden from view. “And that shall be yours.”

“My lady, I-”

“We can exchange them if we see each other in the morn. If you insist.” She looked at his adorable, gaping expression and found a little humor in it. His presence had given her a small reprieve from her dark thoughts and heavy guilt. It was strange, she thought, how easily she had found comfort in his presence. Maybe, if they lived through this, she could explore that if Podrick also found it agreeable. “Excuse me, Podrick.” She then stepped around him toward the door, her heart a little lighter. 

“Yes, my lady, I mean, I shall see you out there, um-”

Lyarra let herself laugh as she left the room.

**

The halls of Winterfell were abuzz with activity. Visenya slipped through the people with a practiced ease on the way to her small room. Grey Worm told her to rest as the Unsullied and Dothraki prepared for the coming battle. She didn’t like it but he softly chided her in Valyrian, knowing she hadn’t been sleeping since arriving in Winterfell. “I do not need you to fall on the field because you’re yawning.”

She turned a corner, down yet another dark stone hallway, and neared her door. Visenya startled as a hand reached out and grasped her arm. She turned and saw Missandei hiding in the shadows and let out a slow breath. “Missandei? What troubles you?” she asked, noting the uneasy expression on the woman’s face. 

Missandei wordlessly led her back toward Daenerys’ chambers, weaving through the whispering crowd, and pushed the door open and ushered them both inside and then tightly locked the door behind them. The queen sat on the edge of the feather bed, paled, and sweaty. 

Visenya quickly stepped to Daenerys’ side and pressed a hand to the queen’s forehead. It was clammy. “My queen? What ails you?” 

“You…you mustn’t tell a soul,” Daenerys said, swallowing thickly. She gently pulled Visenya’s hand away from her skin. Her words were hushed, nearly too soft to hear. 

“Whatever you ask of me, you shall have—you know this.” 

Daenerys’ small hands pressed against her stomach as her bloodshot, violet eyes looked into Visenya’s mismatched pair, pleading, imploring. “I am with child.” 

Visenya quickly looked to Missandei who nodded once, her hands tightly clasped in front of her.

“Surely that is happy news?” Visenya asked. “Drogon and Rhaegal will have to learn to share your heart but they will know another dragon when this little one is born.” 

“It is Jon Snow’s,” Daenerys supplied. 

“Even happier—love and a baby.” Visenya knew there had been tension between the queen and the new warden in the north, but she simply thought it was because of the impending battle. When she had witnessed them together, it truly seemed happy. 

“I’m scared,” Daenerys whispered. 

Missandei swept Daenerys into a tight embrace and Visenya wrapped her arms around both women and squeezed. For a few short moments, it was just the three of them on that featherbed, finding comfort in friends’ embrace. Soft words of strength and grace and love were whispered into ears as fingers trailed across backs to soothe stuttering hearts and calm racing minds if only for a moment. 

But moments such as these never last as long as needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please yell at me in the comments. It keeps me motivated.


End file.
